Old men
by WiseDragonGirl
Summary: After the battle Masoh watches the preparations for the sand funerals from a distance. He has other worries, but while he wants to hide his condition from the others, Kuchiba joins him.


_Authors Note: this fanfic takes place between episodes 9 and 10 and mentions moments from episodes 9, 10, 11 and 12. If you haven't watched these episodes yet, there will be spoilers._

The battle was over, the enemy defeated. Only a few of warriors had returned after sinking the enemy ship.

Masoh stood on one of the higher pathways, his hand resting on the brown parapet of mud. He watched the people gather the victims below: those that had died on their side, but the enemy soldiers who had died on the Mud Whale too. Like that kid in uniform whose life he had ended with the sword when Kuchiba couldn't. He closed his eyes. It was awful that people so young were fighting and dying, but there was nothing he could do to change that. Those soldiers had taken up arms to kill them and the people of the Mud Whale didn't want to die. No-one wanted to die. And sometimes one had to kill another to survive.

And they had survived the attack. Not everyone, but many people had. Looking back, he had no regrets.

He slowly turned and started walking away, but after a few steps he had to stop. His legs trembled, and he held on to the parapet to avoid falling. He panted as if he had run around the entire Mud Whale.

When he heard footsteps he looked up, Kuchiba approached him.

"What are you doing here, old man," Masoh said, doing his best to give a strong appearance.

"Some business with the elders, none of your concern," Kuchiba replied curtly and he continued to walk past Masoh, but a few steps later he stopped. He looked at the ground for a moment, before turning around. "I never got around to thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving my life. For avenging Taisha."

Masoh nodded and looked out over the endless sea of sand. "It was foolish of you to go to those enemy soldiers, you can't even fight. But it was brave." He glanced towards him. "You loved her, didn't you?"

Kuchiba tensed and his cheeks turned red, but he nodded. "I did," he admitted.

"I know what it's like, to lose someone you love," he said as he looked at the horizon again. "Losing a partner, it hurts more than losing your parents. Losing a child…" he couldn't finish that sentence, there was no way to describe the pain of that.

"It must have been hard," Kuchiba said, not knowing what else he could say to that.

"Yeah, but you learn to live with it." Masoh put on a brave smile. "Well, I'm off. They might need my help down there."

Kuchiba glanced to the place where they were preparing the sand funerals of the fallen. It would take a while longer before everything was ready.

"Nice talking to you, old man."

Kuchiba huffed and watched Masoh walk away, then crumple to his knees. He quickly walked over and crouched down next to him. "Masoh? Are you okay?"

"I'm getting old…" Masoh groaned. "That's all. I'll be okay, I just need to rest."

With the help of Kuchiba, Masoh managed to get back on his feet. Together they walked to the parapet and Kuchiba helped Masoh back on the ground.

Masoh rested his back against the mud wall and looked towards the sky. Without a word, Kuchiba sat down next to him.

"Next time you see the elders, tell them I say after the age of twenty-eight marked people deserve a place on the council."

"Twenty-eight is not old enough to be on the council," Kuchiba protested.

Slowly Masoh rose his trembling hand and looked at it. "It sure feels that way… that I'm old enough to be on the council. I must be eighty or something." He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the parapet.

"You're only twenty-eight," Kuchiba said, trying to hide his worry. "Marked people can live up to-"

"I know," Masoh said. "On average we can live up to thirty. Any marked who lives to be thirty-one or even thirty-two is celebrated like an elder who lives to be a hundred." He sighed. "Benihi was twenty-nine when she died. I don't think I'm going to set any records."

The two men fell silent.

Even though Kuchiba was only thirty-nine, Masoh always called him 'old man', he had done so for a few years now. For the unmarked that wasn't old, people couldn't join the Council of Elders until their sixty-first birthday. But Kuchiba knew that no Thymia-user would ever reach his age. For them, he was old.  
"Look at us," Kuchiba said silently. "Two old men sitting together."

Masoh laughed, then coughed and ended with a sigh. "Yeah, two old men," he agreed. "Come, help me up. I don't want to sit here all day."

Kuchiba helped Masoh up and brought him to his house. But Masoh grew weak quickly and soon he had to stay in the infirmary, where most of the Marked ended up towards the end of their lives. Kuchiba visited him every day. One day he brought him palm wine and they talked.

Sometimes when Masoh slept he just sat on a stool next to the bed. Of course he had known Masoh from his birth, but they had never really talked to each other. They hadn't even liked each other. But something had changed during that moment in the battle, a newfound respect for each other.

The respect had grown into friendship.

The weaker Masoh got, the longer he slept. Every day Kuchiba wondered if he would wake up again. Several days Masoh surprised them all by opening his eyes again and talk to them, but the moments he was awake became short and scarce.  
Until the day came he didn't wake up.

People weren't supposed to cry at sand funerals. Usually Kuchiba was able to do that.

The first time he hadn't was when Taisha and all the other victims of the first attack had been buried. He had cried as he clutched the coffin, unable to control his grief. He had loved Taisha with all his heart.

Now it was Masoh's turn to be buried in the sand. The death of Masoh, even though everyone knew it was coming, hit hard. Kuchiba watched how the some of the other Marked lifted the coffin and gently placed it on the sand, trying his best to keep his composure. Somewhere in the crowd he heard someone mutter that they couldn't cry, that she wouldn't cry, and all he could think was 'why?'

"It's okay," he said as tears appeared in his eyes. He closed his eyes and hung his head. "Today you may cry."

Tears ran down his face as he said that. It was okay, so many people loved Masoh, why couldn't they grieve at the final farewell? Today he'd allow it, for everyone, for himself.

And he cried as the coffin drifted away in the sand.


End file.
